Perhaps We Should Rethink This
by Simon920
Summary: Nine year old Dick is unhappy at Wayne Manor.


Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**Perhaps We Should Rethink This**

Alfred sighed but refrained from shaking his head at the latest demonstration of anger and frustration on the part of the youngster the Master had brought home about a month ago. It was understandable, of course, the child was only nine years old and had suffered unimaginable loss and trauma just weeks ago but...That was the fourth fragile, antique and irreplaceable object to meet it's untimely end at the child's hands.

Bending down, he picked up the larger pieces of the Ming vase, the vacuum would be needed for the smaller shards.

First, though, he needed to find where the boy had run off to this time. Yesterday he'd been finally found hiding under one of the benches holding the orchids in the far greenhouse, damp from the automatic watering.

Later that evening, after a silent dinner and a half eaten meal, after the child had gone to a silent and probably tearful bed, Alfred ventured to the master' study to discuss the situation. Knocking lightly on the thick door, he let himself in when he heard the single word, 'Come'.

Bruce looked up from the file he was reading and raised one eyebrow to state his question.

"Yes, the Ming was today's casualty. We also had a tantrum when he wanted to go swimming. I explained that the outdoor pool is closed for maintainance and that the indoor one is being retiled but he was adamant and insisted that he could swim if he climbed down the cliff to the shore. I'm afraid that I had to physically restrain him, which he didn't take very well, I'm afraid."

Bruce sighed, this wasn't good. "How was school today, anything?"

"He fought with one of his classmates. Evidently the other youngster referred to him as 'Elephant Boy'."

"Have you tried to talk with him? I know he's dealing with a lot and all that but we have to do something..."

Alfred counted to five. "Yes, sir. I have indeed tried to talk with the child, Leslie has tried to talk with him, the Commissioner has tried to talk with him, the teacher and the principal at his school have tried, the school psychologist has tried. I think that it's become apparent that he needs more than conversation."

"Such as?"

"I would suggest, sir, that the boy is clearly broken hearted, sad, adrift and frightened to death about what will happen to him. In addition he is, as we're all too aware, deeply grieving the rather horrible loss of his parents and undoubtedly feels abandoned."

"I know all this, what can we do...?"

"He's used to being active, performing, training, and being surrounded by the hustle and bustle of a performing troupe, traveling and being the center of attention. At the minimum I would suggest that you try to get him interested in some sort of physical activity in an attempt to take his mind off his situation, at least for a short time."

Alfred was right, of course and Bruce nodded. "All right. I'll sigh him up for gymnastics tomorrow. I'll also call the school and see what they suggest."

"Thank you."

* * *

Dick was, indeed in his bed crying. He was frightened, confused and wished with everything in him that this was all a really bad dream and that when he woke up his mother would chide him for eating a burrito just before bed, causing this nightmare he was caught in. He'd apologize and have his breakfast then start the morning practice with his parents. If they had an early matinee he'd get changed for the show and maybe do his arithmetic or spelling before they were called to the opening parade.

His dad would be teasing and telling jokes and, even though she would pretend to be annoyed, his mom laugh when she'd tell him to behave and get serious so that they would all concentrate and no one got hurt.

Maybe, if he was lucky and Joseph was in a good mood, he'd get a ride on the elephants and be allowed to feed them after the first show.

They'd do the performances they were scheduled for that day, just like they always did unless it was a travel day. After the townies left and they had the circus to themselves again he and his parents would have some food with everyone in the mess tent. They'd all talk and laugh and kid around and then, if it wasn't too late, he and the other kids would have some time to play tag or something.

He looked out of the huge floor to ceiling windows beside him, the heavy velvet drapes blocking out most of the moonlight but leaving enough of a sliver to just barely light the room he was now living in. It was bigger than their old trailer and there was a lot of stuff that Mr. Wayne probably had Mr. Pennyworth get for him; the TV and the X-bot and tons of legos and clothes and things, but none of it mattered because all he really wanted was to go home.

He heard some footsteps outside, crunching on the gravel below his window and knew the guards were walking their usual patrol. He'd asked about that and it was explained to him that because there were so many valuable things on the estate, Mr. Wayne had a security force to make sure nothing happened to them.

It made sense and he felt badly about the things he'd broken because he knew his mother would be mad and disappointed if she knew.

But she didn't know, she didn't know anything. Not anymore.

He started crying again.

* * *

Two months went by with things remaining awkward, difficult and painful for all involved. The boy would ask questions, hoping for different answers, always disappointed.

"But why can't I go back to Pop? I know he'd let me stay with him."

"I'm sure he would, Master Dick,. But the courts have said that you must stay near Gotham as you're a material witness in..."

"Because I saw my parents get killed. I know."

Or:

"But the judge said I could go live my real relatives, I heard him. Why can't I go stay with my cousins?"

That one was harder, if possible. "I'm afraid that we're having trouble contacting them, young sir."

"Are you trying, I mean, are you still trying?"

"Of course we are, absolutely."

And the worst:

"But why do I have to stay with Bruce? He doesn't even like me."

"Indeed he does, my goodness."

"_No, he doesn't._"

The tantrums continued, though they now seemed to have changed from spontaneous outbursts to a more ingrained part of the child's makeup. Based in anger and obvious frustration coupled with severe grief, Dick would kick shins and apologize, insist it was an accident, drop plates and glasses, 'lose' new clothes and generally make every day a trial.

"Alfred, you_ have _to get that child under some kind of control."

"I'm aware of that sir, perhaps you have a suggestion as to how I might accomplish that? I've spoken with Leslie, taken him to the grief counseling she recommended and done my level best to reason with him, all to no avail."

Dick was now taking gymnastics lessons at a local academy and after about two weeks there Bruce was asked to see the instructor. Busy working on Catwoman's latest thefts, he send Alfred.

"Mr. Pennyworth, thank you for coming. I'd just like to let you know how incredibly well Dick is doing in class. In fact, I've bumped him up to the advanced group so, if that's not a problem, he'll be here from four to six, four to five days a week."

"Is he willing to spend that much time here? Forgive my asking, but he _is_ nine years old."

"I'm sure that he'll insist that he wants to do this and, well, see for yourself." The instructor or coach or whatever he was gestured towards the office window overlooking the gym below them. Sure enough, Dick was lining up at the end of the runway for a vault. Face set in concentration, eyes on the vaulting table eighty feet away, he took a breath and started his run, controlled and focused. Turning a handspring onto the table, he pushed off, straightened his body, twisting and rotating, finally landing without a hop, arms up and a smile of self-pride on his face.

"That's an elite move." Alfred's eyes were still on the boy, walking back to the head of the runway for another vault. "Mr. Pennyworth, perhaps you didn't hear me, that was an elite move. He's nine years old; he shouldn't even be trying stuff like that for at least another five years or so and then he should take another year or two to nail them."

"Yes, but he's a trained athlete, he's an experienced circus performer, an acrobat."

"He's a prodigy, he has more natural ability—trained or otherwise—than I've ever seen in a child his age. I was an Olympian myself and he's a lot better at nine than I was at twelve and that's the truth."

What Alfred saw was the look on the boy's face; it was the first time since he'd met the lad that he'd had an expression of unreserved joy, happiness, pride and simple pleasure.

The man opened the window and called out. "Hey, Dick, c'mon in here a minute." The boy ran, willing and seeming eager to obey in contrast to his usual reluctance at the Manor. "I was just talking with Mr. Pennyworth here and we were wondering if you'd like to up your practice time. Whaddya say?"

"How much?"

"Almost every day for a couple of hours after school. You don't have to if you'd rather not. No one will be mad or anything, it's up to you."

The boy looked at Alfred for a cue, receiving a subtle nod. "I guess, yeah, I'd like that if it's okay, but..." He paused.

"But what, Dick?"

"How much would that cost—extra lessons and gym time? That's expensive."

"I assure you, if you would enjoy this, the costs are immaterial." He paused a moment, tilted his head ever so slightly and gently asked again. "I believe that you have a real talent for this and I think that you were enjoying yourself just now. Shall we commit to more extensive training?"

"But..."

"The cost is of no importance. What matters both to myself and Master Bruce is that you have something to engage in which gives you pleasure. I suspect that this may well fill that role, at least for now." He spoke to the coach. "If you would be so kind as to let me have whatever paperwork is needed and inform me of the charges, I'll see to it that it's all delivered to you no later than tomorrow."

The expression on Dick's face was one he'd never see before this moment, one combining happiness, disbelief and some confusion, as though his world had shifted and that the shift was one for the better.

An hour later, driving back to the Manor with Dick riding in the front passenger seat, refusing the back seat as befitted the 'family', Alfred was slightly surprised to hear the boy speak.

The voice was low but clear.

"How come Bruce let me stay at his house? He doesn't even like kids and now he's spending all this money and stuff."

"You know the reason, his story isn't all that different than your own, young sir. He also lost his parents to criminals when he was about your age and so he feels that he has some understanding of the difficulties which you're working through and I know he wants very much to aid you in whatever ways he can, as do I."

"Why? It's not like I'm his kid or anything. Besides, I'm a circus rat, he's like a bizillionaire, it's not like we have a lot to talk about or anything." The boy was suspicious, his anger coming through again.

Alfred pulled the car over, it was a quiet back road with little traffic. "Master Di...

"Don't call me that! I'm not anyone's 'master', I'm nine years old."

"Forgive me, you're quite right. Dick, might I ask you; given your own choice, and accepting the present circumstances, where would you like to be? Where would you like to be living?"

"I want things to be like they were, I want to be with my parents and living in the circus with our friends and..."

"You know that's not possible." It was said gently.

"I know that, okay? I know but it's what I want."

"With that not possible for now, what would make you the least unhappy?"

Dick thought, his eyes focused on some middle distance in the woods. "I want the people who killed my parents to pay. I want them to die and then I want, I want—I want, I...I want to be doing things and I want to be with people who want me, not people who're letting me stay because they think they're going to get some gold star or something."

"My dear boy, surely you can't think that's why Bruce and I have made arrangements for you to stay with us and to share our home as a member of the family?"

Alfred's answer was a look which told him exactly what Dick thought.

"Young man, I assure you..." He stopped and started again. "Dick, you're wanted very much right where you are. Before you came into the house it was dark, too quiet and hung with shadows and the ghosts of the people who are no longer there. However, since you've arrived, despite some—awkward—moments, it's become a different place. Where it was formerly merely a house, it is becoming a home. With your help and permission, we shall complete the transformation and the home shall house a family; a family in every sense of the word."

The boy looked over at Alfred. "You're serious?"

"Never more so in my life."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"...Bruce didn't put you up to this because he wants to avoid bad publicity or something?

"Indeed not, without you in the house the light will go out. The master may have saved you by removing you from the Juvenile Detention Center but I assure you, you in fact deserve the acknowledgment for being the rescuer. If you hadn't joined us our lives would have remained bleak."

The boy was silent for a long moment, taking it in, disbelieving. "Are you lying?"

"I promise that I will never lie to you Dick, and I'm not doing so now."

"Uh-huh. Everybody lies."

"On occasion, perhaps, but this isn't one of those times."

It was obvious the child didn't believe him. "We have never brought anyone into the circle of the Wayne family before and this wasn't done lightly or with the thought that you were returnable like a defective toaster or sent back like an undercooked meal. When you walked into the house, you walked into our lives and it is my—and the Master's—sincere hope that you stay with us."

"What if it doesn't work? What if in a while you decide that it was a mistake?"

"That won't happen. You are part of us now but if you wish, after a fair trial period, that you would be happier elsewhere, then we'll do what we can to make it happen. You've my word on that."

"How about three months from now? Would that be a 'fair trial period'?"

"Might I suggest six months? There are large adjustments to still be made for all concerned."

"Six months." He looked out the car window for more long moments, then nodded to himself. "Okay, maybe it'll be okay for that long. Do you think Bruce will let me help him find the people who killed my parents?"

Alfred stopped, did the child know about Batman? "I'm sure that he would welcome your help and I'll see to it that you're included in any meetings he has with the police."

"And if I want to leave in six months then I can, right?"

"We shall make certain that Master Bruce has no objections, but I suspect that he'll be agreeable."

An almost small smile finally touched the boy's face. "That would be a good start." They passed the school, a small shopping center and headed left to Brixton Road. "I really want to catch the people who killed them. It shouldn't take more than six months, should it?

Shifting the gears to drive, Alfred pulled back onto the road wondering how much the child knew.

7/18/10


End file.
